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Chapter Text

Bond walked into the MI6 local just as Q was knocking back his fourth tequila in quick succession, surrounded by several department minions.

“This is abuse of your superior officer, you know.”

“It’s an established ritual initiation for the new Quartermaster,” said R. “Seven tequilas…” she caught sight of Bond from the corner of her eye, sidling up to the bar and within earshot, “then walking the length of Vauxhall Bridge. Fall into the river? Well, it wasn’t meant to be…”

Q shook his head, weaving on his stool as he did.

“He’ll be doing no such thing,” growled Bond.

R turned.

“This,” she said pointedly, “is a private party, Mr Bond. Branch staffers only, in which department I believe you are sorely unqualified.”

Bond bristled slightly. He really wasn’t sure about these young, mouthy boffins. He never thought he’d admit it, even to himself, but he kind of missed the old world of Major Boothroyd.

“This is reckless…”

“You’dknowallabout that, wouldn’tyouMrBlond?” Q interjecting himself into the exchange, drunkenly jabbed a finger in Bond’s direction.

As a first encounter with the new head of Q Branch, this wasn’t going at all as expected.

Unprepared? Maybe. But Bond loved a challenge.

Bond moved to stand behind him, lolling about in his stool, leaning back with an oblivious sigh against the agent’s chest.

Bond took the initiative. He pivoted the young boffin to face him and hoisted him over his shoulder.

“I say, Bond!” said R, with a degree of incredulity. Bond simply raised a finger in her face, accompanied with a hard “no arguments” momentary stare. The floppy Quartermaster didn’t even put up a fight.

He pushed out the door to grab a taxi.

The team raised their glasses to the second-in-command. “Well played, R!”

She took a bow.

Outside, Bond poured him into a nearby taxi and climbed in after him.

“Address, Q?”

Q rolled his head and squinted through unfocused eyes at Bond.

“A dress? ’M notwearinga dress. Though I do look quite good in silky panties… Hick! Where I am?”

“Give me a second,” Bond mumbled at the bemused driver. He frowned impatiently, while manhandling Q against the seat. He began searching his inside pockets for a wallet.

Q tried - unsuccessfully - to bat away his hands for a few seconds before flopping back.

“Hick! Whyyourhandssobig? Ur you - hick! - Giant?”

Bond ignored him, eyeing his licence. “Bayswater.” He sat back and closed his eyes, while his Quartermaster leaned a cheek against the cool window.

Fifteen minutes later, Bond was paying the driver and pulling an almost comatose Q out of the taxi and against his body.

“Mmmm. Yousmellsnice…” Q muttered against his shoulder. “What’s your name ‘gain?”

“Seeing as you’ll have forgotten this fiasco by morning…”

Q frowned, fumbling with his glasses. “But you took me home? You don’t want to see my panty collection?” he giggled adorably.

Bond was losing the will to live. “Another time maybe…” Glancing up, he saw the CCTV in the alcove tracking their movements.

“Awww,” Q groused, Bond dragging them both through the door of the MI6-registered apartments and kicking it shut. Bond's excellent sense of direction guided him unerringly towards the bedroom.

“Is my bed? Doesn’t look like my bed,” Q slurred through a combination of a groan and a yawn, dislodging his cat when he fell face down on the mattress.

“Prob’ly been while since you seen it. Given work demands,” Bond mumbled, bending over to pull off his shoes.

“I like my office futon. Feels like home…” He rolled onto his back as Bond attacked the second shoe. “Where’s you live... manperson?”

“Not far. Sleep well, Q.”

“Help with m' trousers, please? Hate waking up in clothes.”

Bond sighed and turned back. What greeted him, made his mouth go dry.

In the nature of James Bond’s work, one experienced one’s fair share of interesting moments. Usually, those moments rolled together, his life lived - frequently on a knife edge - too fast, too furious to compartmentalise every one.

That way madness lie.

What lay on the bed in front of him now, may well lead him to the madness he had thus far avoided. In the guise of open trousers, revealing smooth, creamy skin and a smattering of dark hair disappearing into blue-lace trimmed silk panties.

Bond took a deep breath and retreated from the space, already filling with soft snores.

Chapter Text

The Following Morning

“Discretion, I am reliably informed by Moneypenny, is the better form of valour, M.”

“At least where the honour of our fellow employees is concerned. I am glad we can agree on something at least, 007,” M said from behind the extensive pomposity of his desk.

M studied his laptop screen. “The security footage from Q’s residence shows you departed less than ten minutes after you both arrived. And I know by reputation you like to… take your time.”

“I take it you and your predecessor shared a few of my more… colourful exploits over drinks?” Bond deadpanned.

“Once or twice perhaps. That aside, I appreciate your stepping into the 005 breach and refraining from any… temptation to indulge your reputation further.”

“Of course, M.”

“Now,” M said brusquely. “To the business of the day.”

Two Weeks Later

The moon was high in a clear sky over London when Bond got back from his latest mission in Istanbul. Things were really hotting up politically in the region and MI6 were sending agents more frequently to maintain contact with their placements and double agents on location to keep the status quo and their piece of mind. For all the wonders of communication and technology, the sight of a friendly British face in the flesh did much to bolster the confidence of those who might come under the scrutiny of the newly established authoritarian regime.

Contrary to the wildly held belief that Bond was nothing more than, well, shall we say the “wild card of MI6,” his temperament had been somewhat tamed under the stewardship of Olivia Mansfield, and while he knew that Mallory was lukewarm towards him at best, he was starting to feel more of a thaw with every passing mission. Of course, he’d shake things up a bit when the time came, but for now, as MI6 was moving into a new phase of its existence and a new era of espionage, the status quo seemed the best option for the moment.

He was in one of the corridors in the bowels of the building, heading towards Q Branch to check his gun, when he stumbled into Moneypenny at a juncture, heading in the same direction.

She smiled that smile that always suggested to Bond she knew far more than was healthy for everyone else in the vicinity.

“Goodnight, Moneypenny. Are you lost or has Mallory finally let you off your lead for a snack and a loo break?” He still liked to gripe at her occasionally. She did shoot him after all. And knowing her loyalty to the new M was unwavering, he did enjoy testing the waters and seeing if he could get a rise out of her. If he were entirely honest with himself, he fair begrudged the man could earn so much trust with such apparent ease.

“And goodnight to you too, James.” She looked him up and down, eyes scanning his form appraisingly. “Have you lost your toy to another Komodo Dragon? Off to grovel at the feet of the Quartermaster?”

“Komodos are a little more difficult to come by in Turkey and no,” he replied, patting his ribs where his weapon was stowed.

Apparently, the Quartermaster Initiation - much to Q’s chagrin - was to continue for thirty days and was inclined to crop up at the most inopportune and unpredictable moments. Such as when one is guiding an agent out of a tricky situation. Sorry. “Alleged” tricky situation…

“Honestly Q,” 003’s low and whispering tones floated across the comms. “It sounded like a signal of some sort. Are you sure the enemy isn’t onto me?”

Q pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses and took a barely contained sigh of exasperation. “Really 003. Do you honestly think that in the 21^st Century, enemy agents are using the sound of a hooting owl to signal each other?”

“Well I don’t know do I? I’m no ornithologist. But I do know that owls are very intelligent. Maybe…. They ARE the enemy agent?”

It was then Q heard the barely contained snigger from behind, turning to find R, her PA and none other than Moneypenny and Double Oh bloody Seven, grinning with lips so tight it looked as though he was in fear of his face cracking with the effort.

“I’m so, so sorry Q!” feigned R, causing the ripple of laughter to finally release itself from his uninvited audience.

He frowned the frown of a very put upon MI6 employee who was realising maybe, no matter how amazing the opportunity to work for one of the leading espionage agencies in the world, it might not be worth it to end up working side-by-side with a second-in-command, whom you also happened to share a dorm in your freshman year of University…

Chapter Text

R smiled as she pinged a message to 007, summoning him to Q Branch to assist in a new weapons test, an invitation she knew full well he was powerless to resist.

Her PA - Geoffrey Shoals - chuckled. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, R.”

She grinned wickedly at him. “Do not underestimate the power of the second-in-command, Shoals. Having had the benefits of a year living in close quarters with our new Head of Branch and three years closely observing the antics of a certain Double O, I possess the benefits of a knowledge that surpasses even that of our illustrious M.”

Shoals raised his eyebrows. “Bold words.”

“Bold words about to be backed up…” she mumbled, just as 002 strolled into the bullpen. R caught his eye across the room and he threw her a wink. Shoals of course, didn’t miss much. “What are you up to?” he whispered.

“Watch and learn, my young Padawan…” both watching Fairbanks stride up to the Quartermaster’s post, a Quartermaster deeply engrossed in his work.  When they shared a dorm, He and R would frequently study together in his room. She would sit on his bed, while he sat on the floor, books and papers strewn around his crosslegged form, laptop resting on his thighs. He was like a sponge when it came to knowledge. R was convinced he learned by osmosis. She would venture out for a half hour, needing regular breaks, and return with a coffee for herself and an Earl Grey for him. He would still be in the same position. Without disturbing him, she’d place the cup on the floor and he would reach for it moments later.

R had used that knowledge to the benefit of Q’s PA and earned herself a few favours because of it.

All knowledge, no matter how innocuous it may seem, was power. One of the top tenets in espionage as it happens.

The scene unfolded beautifully. A reverse Shakespearean tragedy.

Fairbanks stood about a foot behind Q, waiting a few moments before clearing his throat  to get his attention and placing his equipment case on the floor next to Q’s feet. Q slowly returned to the present and visibly hauled himself out his virtual meanderings. He turned round and gave a curt smile with a brief nod by way of greeting to the agent.

“Ah 002. Back in one piece I see. Lovely.”

“Thank you, Q.”

“No need to thank me for doing my job, Fairbanks.”

“Your methods of running ops has vastly improved the mood of the Medical staff. They asked me to thank you properly."

Q frowned. “Thank me prop—?”

Fairbanks cut him off with a soft kiss. Q was too stunned to do anything else but stand there and accept the rather delicious invasion of his personal space. The whoops and wolf whistles from his staff were what shook him out of his state of shock.

His blush could have rivalled the colour of some of the more suggestive neon Soho signs.

He shook off the agent and pulled down his cardigan indignantly. He was about to reel off the book about sexual harassment in the workplace when he noticed R watching the scene as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

It was then he knew he’d been had.

“R!! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t fire you RIGHT NOW!!”

“Because you love me?” she retorted innocently.

Fairbanks had the good grace to look sheepish. “I would say sorry Q…” he said through a grin. Q waved him off, the chuckles from his staff at the rather pleasant momentary diversion finally dying down, along with the ridiculous blush he’d been sporting. “This bloody initiation will be the end of me…” he mumbled.

R sauntered off, Shoals shadowing her. He said nothing, spotting another Double O standing at the main entrance to the room, he could only guess for how long.

“Hello Commander,” R said with a tilt of her head in the direction of the firing range. “Follow me then. Let’s put this new toy through its paces, shall we?”

If she saw the interested and curious look he briefly bestowed on the back of the Quartermaster, she didn’t comment on it.

Bond simply nodded and followed.

And if his marksmanship was even more impressive than normal, even though R had deliberately set the sight off by a couple of millimetres, which Bond of course pointed out, she didn’t comment on that either.

He departed the shooting range. No glib remarks. No sarcasm, cutting wit or innuendo spared.

Shoals watched him leave. “That was… unusual.”

“Was it?” R asked, her poker face expression offset by eyes sparkling with the confidence of one who knows they are holding a winning hand.

She removed the guns clip and shut the weapons case before turning to him.

“In life as in comedy, Mr Shoals, timing is everything.”

Chapter Text

Bond’s phone beeped as he was leaving River House.

Moneypenny.

Care to join us in the break room, James? Tanner and I are about to strip a few boffins off their pension plan in poker.

Bond grinned, turning on his heel to re-enter the building. Like he was going to turn down an offer like that.

By the time he got to the break room, Moneypenny, Tanner, R and Q (sitting with his back to the door) were already settled around the table.

“Room for one more?”

Q looked round. “Oh for goodness sake!” he huffed with a somewhat adorable degree of petulance. At least for a senior staff member. “Who invited the Double O?”

Bond pulled up a chair opposite him. “Q… I’m hurt.”

Q folded his arms. “I doubt it would take less than a bullet to hurt your feelings, 007.”

“And yet still I come back for more,” he smiled with a tilt of his head, interlocking his fingers beneath his jaw.

“Masochist…”

“Word on the Q Branch grapevine is you’re a bit of a sadist, we could…”

R was biting back a smile as Tanner coughed an interruption. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen - and I use the word loosely in your case, 007 - there is a game to be played.”

“There certainly is,” mumbled Eve under her breath, R knocking her on the knee to keep her peace.

The following hour passed pleasantly with friendly banter exchanged (aside from the occasional suggestion by James to revert to a strip version of the game), everyone getting a read on each other and Tanner surprising everyone by winning the first three hands.

After Bond hinted that he’d let him win those three hands to lull him into a false sense of security, well, it was all downhill from there for the Chief of Staff.

He puffed his cheeks and tossed down his hand. “Fold.”

“Like a cheap suit,” deadpanned Q.

“I’m still the Chief of Staff, Quartermaster,” as close to a growl as he could get.

“Quite. Sorry,” said Q, still looking at his cards.

R and Eve were barely paying attention to the game, sharing furtive glances and small smiles. Bond’s attention had been fairly rapt on Q, though obviously under the guise of studying and learning his poker tells.

“What are you two up to?” Q enquired, through a side-eyed look.

“Just enjoying the game,” R said casually. “We’re always so busy saving the world of secrets from imploding and spattering ourselves with the blood of the innocent, we never, you know, get to just hang out?”

“Well said, R,” said Moneypenny, following Tanner’s suit and folding her hand. “We should do this more often.”

“You lot won’t have any of your salary left to wager after I’ve cleaned you all out,” said Bond, leaning back and resting his chin in the flat of his palm.

Q mirrored Bond’s move. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we, 007?”

A few heartbeats passed as they sized each other up. Q leaned forward and pushed the remainder of his chips into the centre of the table.

“All in.”

Bond was impressed. Though was most successful in not betraying that.

“Call.”

R, who was playing dealer, flipped over the river.

“Show us what you’ve got then, Quartermaster. I’m dying to be impressed.”

Q removed his glasses and slowly cleaned the lenses, breathing on them. R watched Bond’s subconscious response. Some tells, particularly those dictated by hormonal reactions were something that were very hard to control, even in the best trained agents.

He replaced the spectacles on his nose and turned his cards.

Tanner was grinning like a loon. “Oh well, played, Q!” he gushed. He always did enjoy the agents getting taken down a peg or three. As long as it wasn’t at the expense of national security. Ego, however, was fair game.

Bond’s reaction was one of grudging admiration. It was a rare thing that he couldn’t read a bluff at the poker table.

“I agree with Moneypenny,” Bond said, doing his best to keep his ruffles appear smooth. “We should definitely do this again,” watching his chips be dragged across the table into the waiting arms of his Quartermaster.

“Oh I’ll be more than happy to give you another opportunity to keep my cats in luxury nibbles for another month, Bond,” he said with unabashed smugness. “Just name the day.”

“Mmmm. I’ll check my schedule,” came Bond's smooth reply, offset by a furrowed brow. “I’m sure I can make some room in my diary.”

“You do that, 007,” Q said before standing and turning to the ladies. “Can I trouble you for a ride home, Moneypenny?”

“Only if you buy me a drink,” she said, standing.

“Deal.”

“R. Gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure,” Q said with a nod. “See you tomorrow.”

Eve gave a little wave over her shoulder as they beat a retreat to the exit.

R and Tanner were still grinning. Bond didn’t fail to notice, realisation slowly dawning. “Is there something I should know?”

“You really should pick your adversaries better. Do a bit of research beforehand,” Tanner said.

“Meaning?”

“Q spent three months of his first University Summer holidays in Las Vegas. He made enough money to put himself through the remainder of his studies,” said R. “Let that be a lesson to you, 007. Never underestimate the hidden talents of one Quartermaster and his army of minions.”

“Huh,” was about as graceful a reply as Bond could manage. He would indeed be taking that recommendation under advisement.

He realised “well played” didn’t come close to doing justice to how he himself had just been played by his wily Quartermaster.

Chapter Text

Bond and Fairbanks were in the MI6 changing room in Medical exchanging war stories about their latest mission.

“Boring as hell it was,” said Fairbanks through a grousing laugh. “I should be thankful I suppose for the occasional mission where I’m not dodging a hail of bullets.”

Bond was silently tying his shoelaces.

“Still,” Fairbanks continued, “I’m grateful that our former Quartermaster’s shoes have been filled with someone so competent. I adored Boothroyd but I don’t think he’d have been up to meeting the demands required of fighting our enemies in the shadows.”

Bond took an appraising look in the mirror, straightening his tie before he spoke. “Mmmm,” he pitched in then, “the boy’s got a bit of a cheeky mouth on him.”

“I certainly won’t argue with you there, Seven,” Fairbanks said with a sly, seductive smile, recalling his lip lock with the Quartermaster last week.

He glanced towards Bond to gauge his reaction which would have been to anyone else, unreadable. Except Fairbanks had worked with Bond long enough to know that when something mattered to the man, he tamped it as far down in his gut and back of his mind as it would go.

The venting of even the mildest of emotions wasn’t really his thing. It was in that moment Fairbanks realised R was onto something.

“Fancy unwinding for an hour?” Fairbanks said with casual nonchalance while pulling on his jacket.

“What did you have in mind?” asked Bond, weighing up his options of drinking in company or drinking in his flat, alone.

“I owe R a drink but she’s not off for an hour. Join me round the corner for a couple? I’m buying.”

Bond was tempted. A bottle of Scotch was waiting for him. But it could wait a little longer. He had to admit, his curiosity about a few things were piqued and life was far too bloody short to turn down the offer of a free whisky.

They were sitting in a booth to the side of the bar, out of direct line of sight, when some of the lesser known MI6 staffers started rolling in. Fairbanks surprised Bond by recognising more of them than was healthy.

“You should make more of an effort, James. They’re ours and they’re good people.”

“I don’t play well with others, Bill. You know that.”

“Mmmm,” he murmured, through allowing a mouthful of warm, amber liquid to slip down his throat.

“Anyway,” Bond said, looking at his own tumbler while rolling it gently with his fingers, “I don’t find any of them particularly interesting…”

“Give us a chance, Bond,” the voice of R, drifted passed his ear. Bill looked up and smiled. “You brought a friend, Fairbanks…”

“Bond would use that word very loosely, R,” he said with a chuckle, standing. “I believe I owe you a drink?”

“Gin and Tonic would be lovely, thanks.”

Bond knocked back the rest of his whisky and stood himself. “I believe that’s my cue,” he mumbled, turning to grab his coat from the hanger behind only to collide with, well, another Q.

“Leaving so soon, Bond?” he enquired, the tone flat enough to convey the fact that he couldn’t care less one way or another. “I’d be happy to buy you another with my winnings from last week…”

Bond kept his own voice level. Q would learn in time, from listening over the comms, that said tone was a preclude to some of his most deadly acts.

“Another time, Quartermaster,” he replied with a tight smile, pushing passed him in a borderline intimidating move.

Q watched him go. R watched Q watch him go. Nearly there, she thought. She shrugged off her coat and signalled Moneypenny, who moved to nip out the second entrance to the pub just in time to meet James coming round the corner on the way to the taxi rank.

“Off already, James?” she enquired with friendly curiosity.

“You know things to do, places to be, Miss Moneypenny,” he threw over his shoulder, not really wanting to get caught up in further conversation.

“Well, if I don’t see you before the weekend, enjoy yourself on Saturday!” That gave him cause for pause in his steps.

He turned around to face that infuriating, know-it-all grin. Bond sighed. “As usual, Eve, you know far more about my advanced schedule than I do. So go on then. Tell me. What’s happening on Saturday?”

“Why, the test drive of the new Aston Martin prototype? Surely Q told you.”

Moneypenny smiled further when she saw Bond’s face practically light up at the words “drive, Aston and prototype” all in the same sentence.

“He did not. I wonder why?”

“I imagine because you weren’t his first choice. He wanted Fairbanks but R insisted you were the more skilled and competent driver and therefore more likely to put it through the necessary testing paces.” She took a few steps closer, arms folded across her body against the night chill. She looked around as though about to impart some state secret. “She basically challenged him saying that he was a big scaredy cat, in fear that you’d uncover some flaws in the design and show up his engineer skills.”

Bond himself was now grinning, practically salivating at the thought of a new toy. “I’ll do my best not to damage either the car or our precious new Quartermaster’s ego,” he answered with a nod and as much grace as he could muster. “Ask R to text me the details of the location and the car spec as soon as she can, won’t you, Moneypenny?”

“Of course, Bond,” she replied, before bidding each other good night.

Bond walked off and Eve watched him stroll into the night, certain there was a little more spring to his step than before.

Chapter Text

Dawn, Saturday Morning, Somewhere outside London

MI6 secret air strip and testing track

“He’s late,” grumbled Q, blowing into the hollow of his hands before shoving them into parka.

R rolled her eyes. Q had done nothing but complain about the Agent during the 90 minute drive to the track deep in the countryside.

“He has time,” she said loudly above the rumble of the Aston, not pausing in her task of directing the tech-head reversing the vehicle off the back of the transport. “We still have to warm her up and break in the tyres with a few gentle circuits.”

Q mumbled something bitchy under his breath before turning his attentions towards the other four boffins waiting for his orders.

Bond rolled up in his own Aston just as Q had dispatched his staff to their positions around the track to assess the car’s performance and record speed.

He climbed out of the car and Q was on him barely before he’d shut the door. “Must you be fashionably late to every single event in your life, 007?”

“Apologies, Quartermaster. I blame a late arrival into the world from my Mother’s womb. The habit’s just stuck to me.”

“We wouldn’t get much done if we all went through life blaming our parents for our shortcomings, you know!”

R shot him a frowning look for the comment, but Bond was seemingly content enough to allow it to wash off his back, the sight of Q Branch’s latest shining model filling his line of vision as he watched it smoothly take the last corner of the track and pull up beside the trio.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Q,” Bond said.

“And of course, I seek your approval on a daily basis to vindicate my work and existence, 007,” Q said, rounding the car to climb into the passenger seat. “Get in,” he said curtly.

Bond didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d happily put up with a huffy Quartermaster for the next ten minutes to put this beautiful beast of a machine through her paces.

Her purr filled the car. Bond was revving the engine so hard it was causing the seats to vibrate. Q squirmed in his seat.

“Alright there, Q?” he enquired, knowing full well what he was doing.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled, firing up the baseline data on his Pad for comparison.

“With pleasure,” Bond replied, sliding on his sunglasses and flooring the accelerator.

Ten Minutes Later

Q’s legs were a little wobbly beneath him when he climbed out of the car. He managed to conceal his unsteadiness admirably. R was right. Bond was a fearless, adrenaline-fuelled madman, exactly the criteria required to push the machine beyond what Q already knew she was capable of.

R was studying her own figures, Bond looking with interest over her shoulders as she scanned the data.

“I think there is one more test we can do before we call it a morning,” she said, looking up from the Pad as Q approached.

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“Well, I think we’ve gathered what we need from a top performing agent behind the wheel.” She looked up then with a glint in her eye. “How about we test her capability driven by a marginally less skilled handler compared to the agent in a reasonably-priced not so souped up Aston?”

Bond was smiling enthusiastically. R knew Q well enough to know he’d agree to save face in front of the infuriating man. Q also knew this was part of her so-called “initiation” of which frankly, he was beginning to question the validity.

“I hate you sometimes, you know that don’t you?”

“You LOVE to hate me, Quartermaster. There’s a difference,” she said with a smile.

“Double or nothing, Q?” Bond asked, and Q knew he was talking about the takings from last week’s poker game.

“Are you sure, 007? I’m not sure your ego could take another beating and I wouldn’t want to knock your confidence before a crucial mission.”

“Oh don’t worry your adorable wavy locks about me, Quartermaster. I’m confident you’ll be buying the drinks later,” he replied climbing into his own Aston and donned his glasses again. He rolled down the window and flashed devastating blues in their direction.

“Best of three? Ready when you are. Sir…”

The minions could only look on in awe, as Q held his place pretty much neck-and-neck with the Agent in a screeching battle that could rival scenes from the Fast and the Furious.

Experience and sheer audacity won out in the end though and after about a dozen or so exchanges for first and second position between them, Bond pipped him across the finish line by nothing more than a bumper.

To say Q was aggravated would be an understatement, but as ever, nothing less than professional. He climbed out, “a few kinks to work out then,” he said brusquely to R. Bond was leaning against the side of his own vehicle like the cocky arsehole he was and always would be.

Q ignored the self-satisfied smirk he was sporting in favour of focussing on R. “Right. Let’s call it a day.”

“Indeed. Let’s get the data back to base and see what’s what,” she replied, climbing into the cab with two other technicians while the third drove the prototype up the ramp and into the trailer. Q didn’t spare Bond a glance, making to climb into the cab after R.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He stepped down, momentarily confused. “Last part of your initiation, Q,” she said firmly shutting the door on him.

“You get to ride back to London with 007.”

“WHAT?! I’m not spending any more time with that--that! than is absolutely neces—“

She leaned out the cab window. “This IS necessary Q. It’s all about winning the complete unwavering respect of your staff. Now. Hop to it,” she said with a wave of her hand as the lorry pulled away.

“DID I MENTION THAT I REALLY, REALLY HATE YOU?!” he shouted after them above the din of the engine.

He dropped his head and sighed, turning on his heel to face the assassin’s music but hopefully not have to dance to his tune, he saw that Bond was already holding the passenger door open for him.

“Shall we?”

Chapter Text

“Bugger!”

James glanced over at his reluctant passenger. He’d been enjoying the relative silence for the last 10 minutes or so, that Q had spent trying to contact R.

“Lost the signal. Bloody hate the countryside,” he griped. “Next thing you know we’ll be surrounded by hicks with banjos.”

Bond chuckled at that.

“Well I’m glad you find our circumstances so amusing, Bond.”

“Are you always so huffy, Quartermaster? It’s quite unbecoming in a senior member of staff.”

“What can I say, 007. You bring out the worst in me.”

“And why exactly is that?” he enquired, genuinely curious despite himself. “I don’t recall being offensive in any way? You’ve been part of MI6 for just over three weeks and we’ve barely crossed paths…”

Q was staring out the window. But it was abundantly clear to Bond he was holding something back.

And then he wasn’t.

He rounded on him.

“I think you’re a sexist, misogynist dinosaur. A relic of the Cold War, whose boyish charms, wasted on me as they are…” Bond braked with a sudden force.

He half-turned in his seat, face like thunder.

“Is there anyone left in the world, Olivia Mansfield hasn’t—“ He stalled in his frustrated rant when the car cut out.

He frowned and turned over the engine a few times but it wasn’t having any of it.

“Oh well that’s just bloody brilliant. When was the last time you had this thing serviced, Bond? World War II? At Legoland?”

Bond released his belt, popped the hood and climbed out of the car. Q followed. Moving to the front of the Aston it was then he noticed the trickle of fuel on the road snaking towards his shoes.

Anything else he might have been able to cobble a fix to get them back to the outskirts of the city. Finding a fuel station in the middle of nowhere was going to be decidedly more of a challenge.

Q opened his mouth, but when he saw the look on Bond’s face, he thought better of the next sarcastic comment. Instead he sighed and tilted his head to the sky. “What have I done to deserve your wrath, world?!” he moaned in exasperation, when in that moment they heard the distant sound of an engine just as it came over the brow of a hill about a mile away. “Oh thank God. Salvation…” Q muttered, positioning himself in the middle of the road. He waved it down as it approached.

A rather genial-looking, middle-aged country fellow rolled down the window. “You lads seem to be in a bit of bother. Need a hand?”

Bond turned on the charm. “Your assistance would be most welcome, Sir,” he said, approaching the car, instincts reliably telling him there was no threat to either of them. “Fuel line’s buggered.”

“Lucky for you I happened along then!” he replied. He climbed out the car and pulled a tow rope out of the boot.

“Here we are! My humble abode!”

It was a rather large white farmhouse, nestled in the hills. Bond was kind of wishing the circumstances were different and he had someone from his little black book along for the ride.

A grumpy Quartermaster does not a good companion in the middle of nowhere make.

“We put up the occasional traveller passing through though we’re not officially a B & B,” he said, walking up the footpath, with Bond and Q trailing after him. “Three bedrooms, two of them are being decorated so I hope you fellas don’t mind bunking together for the ni—“

Q had stopped dead in his tracks. “We’ll be doing no such thing!” he said with mustered indignation. “Don’t you have a landline? A phone? I’d even take a pigeon-carrier right now…”

Their host chuckled. "Sorry to say the area was hit by a rather vicious storm the night before last so the phone lines are down. Should be fixed by morning. Even the nearest village is cut off.” He opened the front door and ushered them in. “And as for the sleeping arrangements, not to worry, young man. It’s a family room. A double and a single bed.”

It did little to appease Q however. “Maybe I’ll sleep in the car…”

Bond huffed an exasperated “Oh do grow up Q…”                  

“You fellas get yourselves settled,” he said, popping on the kettle and two tea bags in a pot. “Bedroom's top of the stairs second on the right. Got an ensuite bathroom ’n all.”

Bond took a seat at the table while Q hovered near the door, looking like a deer about to bolt.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr…?”

“Name’s Malloy,” he replied with a smile. “Gotta go pick up the missus but I’ll be back in a couple of hours and we’ll get some grub in you lads. Be good!!” he called shutting the door as he headed out again.

Bond was watching a series of interesting expressions cross Q’s face, ranging from thoughtful, to confusion, and finally to realisation.

“Now what’s wrong?” Bond asked, wondering if was about to regret the question.

“Has to be a coincidence…” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Malloy… That’s… R’s…" he paused.

I’m going to fucking kill her when I get back…” he wrenched off his coat and hung it up by the door with force.

On hearing that, Bond apparently, was rapidly coming to the same conclusion.

He started laughing.

“Funny? You think this is funny?” I swear to God, I’ll throw her AND you to the wolves for this!”

“Me? What the hell did I do??” Bond asked through unrepentant chuckling.

“Oh I don’t know! For being an infuriating fucker! That’s reason enough!” He threw over his shoulder, stomping up the stairs obviously heading for the bedroom to distance himself from the immediate vicinity of the agent.

Bond’s laughter had subsided now and he rose to follow him. He pushed open the door. “I really, really don’t know what your problem with me is Q…” but there was no sign of him. Without even thinking, Bond strolled towards the en suite bathroom door. “And I swear to holy heaven, I’m about five seconds away from putting you across my knee…” he trailed off, realising he’d perhaps inadvertently forgotten his manners regarding privacy and personal boundaries, Q being in the middle of undoing his trousers so as to relieve himself.

“For FUCK’S SAKE, 007?!” Q shouted, rounding on him. “Don’t you have ANY sodding limits?!!”

Too late, Q realised his flies were undone, the waist of his trousers partially pushed down, revealing the blue silk garment beneath catching and holding Bond’s eye. For several long seconds there was a standoff, neither man daring to move for fear of breaking the spell. So Bond did what he did best.

He took control.

He moved with purpose towards him, the predatory look not at all lost on Q, who had extended his arm while backing away. But there was nowhere for him to back away to, no corner for escape.

The bathroom was tiled from top to bottom. Q’s back hit the tap of the open shower just as Bond reached for him, snaring his slender waist in large calloused hands.

He turned his head to the side, Bond’s mouth landing on his exposed neck. The water cascaded down his face, Bond lapping eagerly at the warm skin cooled by the gentle stream, rivuleting down the path of his neck and soaking his shirt. Q closed his eyes against the stream of water, gasping at the feel of Bond’s hot breath, unrelenting as his mouth attacked his throat. Bond proceeded to pull him into his chest and from under the showerhead, hitting it to turn it off before hauling him towards the bed.

Q was as confused as he was aroused.

“We— we shouldn’t… we can’t do this, Bond.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the young boffin on top of him to straddle his thighs.

“I’m soaked…” he said distractedly, looking wide-eyed at the cling of the shirt to Bond’s chest. Bond tilted his head as if it were the most adorable expression he’d ever seen.

“Best get you out of them before you catch cold then, hadn’t we?”

Chapter Text

After an age which lasted all of 12 or so seconds, Q started undoing the buttons of his shirt, Bond’s gaze of admiration emboldening him in the task. Bond undid his own shirt with a slow and sensual casualness, both men peeling the soaked material off at the same time.

“We should hang them up… to dry…”

“Later.” Bond commanded, tossing them both over onto the nearby single bed.

Q slipped off his lap and stood to remove his trousers, stepping out of them and his shoes and socks. He reached for the panties, Bond’s steel-blue gaze raptly held that of the boffin when he spoke.

“Those. You can keep on…” he demanded roughly, reaching to return him to his lap and then moving back up the bed to lean against and into the pillows for support. Q removed his thumbs from the waistband and let his arms drop to hang loose by his sides, his body instinctively and fluidly crawled with him, settling their groins against each other.

Bond was still wearing his trousers which had somehow avoided getting wet. He found himself enjoying the smooth sensation of the material rubbing against his inner thighs.

Q realised they still hadn’t kissed.

“Do you trust me?” Bond asked, placing a spread palm between his shoulder blades to pull him closer. He bent his knees to raise his thighs. His other hand reached down to his ankle to pull his Ka-bar knife from its sheath.

Q was looking down, marvelling a little at how they had somehow ended up here, conflicting instincts battling within him. He held Bond’s upward slanted gaze steadily as he moved to place his lips over the jut of Q’s collarbone.

“I want to,” he whispered, looking down at the blade then, all thoughts of barbed snark abandoning his mind to make space for the riot of arousal flooding his brain. Bond placed a hand gently against his chest and pushed him back to lean against his raised thighs.

Q briefly wondered how often Bond had used the weapon to kill, to threaten, to coerce.  The sight of it glinting in the afternoon sunlight, hovering just below his stomach was disturbingly arousing. Bond glided his left palm up Q’s thigh to slide his fingers gently between his crotch and the narrowest part of the material. He moved his hand forward, knuckles grazing the underside of Q’s cock, achingly hard now, its crown peeking out - a maddening temptation - above the top of the silken garment. Pulling the front of the panties forward to create a space between them and Q, he brought the tip of the blade, so sharp it could probably split a hair, and pierced the fabric. He pinched the material around the knife’s edge and between his thumb and forefinger, guiding it slowly down and under, creating an opening.

Q had never kept so still for so long in his entire life.

Bond slipped the knife beneath the pillow.

“Now. Kiss me.”

“Why should I kiss you?”

“Because I’m anger. I’m violence. I’m pain.” Q’s breath caught at the words, spoken quietly and with near reverence. Bond’s hands moved down again, eyes following their path to caress the slim waist above him and raise Q slightly, angling his body in such a way to allow Bond to slide his own cock, now freed from the confines of his suit, between his cheeks and behind the seat of the smooth still-intact piece of silk presently housing the firm, curved smoothness of Q’s second… third? No. Fourth maybe… finest asset.

Bond silently reached through the cut and pulled Q’s cock from the garment. He was excruciatingly gentle. But his expression screamed to Q that he was holding himself back. Q realised that he might actually look a little intimidated and was internally impressed that Bond was reading him so well and allowing himself to be guided so readily.

His other hand, he slipped round to cup Q’s buttocks, pressing the flat of his palm against the silk to further trap himself between the firm fleshy curves. “I need you to kiss me, because I need your permission. I need you to dictate the pace. I need you to leash me, and release me, only when you are ready to do so.”

Q was heady with desire, and completely at the mercy of his body’s proximity to the agent. He inadvertently flexed his buttocks around Bond, who’s eyes were almost completely dark but for the dangerous glint that flared in response to that tantalising move.

On those words, Q folded his body down and kissed the deadliest Double O in the Secret Service with a fiery tenderness, the kind of tenderness that two warriors would surrender to each other after surviving a battle in which they were certain death was waiting. Q woke a part of Bond’s soul as he did, a part Bond had thought long since dead.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

“Hello Sweetheart,” Jack Malloy said sporting an affectionate smile at the woman climbing from the shuttle bus. “How was your sister?”

“Annoying as ever,” his wife sighed, handing him her overnight bag. “Insists you and I should move back to the City lest we be mauled to death in our sleep by the packs of wolves roaming the English countryside…”

He landed a kiss on her cheek. “Bless her. There may not be wolves but there are certainly some interesting folks you can come across in the middle of nowhere.”

Her eyes were twinkling, with the same vibrant colour and mischievousness a certain MI6 second-in-command would as she plotted something.

“Riley’s friends? They’re here?”

“Left the pair of them up at the house,” he said, opening the car door for her before climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “She’s right though. They’ve definitely got a thing for each other, and I’d be very surprised if they weren’t getting to know each other a bit better right about…”

“…Now.”

The combined pressure of James’ lips and breath against his ear, strong forearm around his waist and firm grip around the length of his cock was seduction personified.

With a strangled whimper through a bitten lip, Q spilled into his hand. Q’s arms buckled and he pressed his forearms for more support against the wall above the bed. Bond shuffled closer while he coated himself with the fluid.

Positioning himself between his thighs, Bond gently placed his hands on either side of his legs to press them together.

The panties were a lost cause, ragged as the breath torn from the spent body of the young boffin. Q chuckled breathlessly. “Who says age is no guarantee of innovation?” he said, capturing Bond between his legs and beginning a slow undulation of his hips.

“Just wait until I get you back to London,” he growled, pushing forward into the firm press of thighs. “I’ll show you innovation.”

He knew he wouldn’t last long. But when he heard the car engine in the distance, he thought that probably wasn’t such a bad thing.

Bond in fact, knew his body very well, his orgasm washing over him seconds after the engine cut and he distantly heard two car doors opening and slamming.

Mrs Malloy looked up at the first floor bedroom window before exchanging a knowing glance with her husband. “Well that sounded promising…”

The Following Day, MI6, Q Branch

Q watched R stroll into the bullpen like she owned the place. He’d have to take his time enacting his revenge. Best served cold when she least expected it and all that. They knew each other well enough to know, despite the fact that Q was immensely grateful for her Q initiation ploy and her orchestration of his most enjoyable sexual encounter to date, he could not let it slide.

She’d get hers. He’d see to that.

“Ah Q,” she said through a shit-eating grin. Q returned the look with all the warmth of an arctic tundra. “Back in one piece then?”

Q’s mind instantly albeit briefly wandered to the image of his tattered blue panties, which were most definitely not. “No thanks to you…” he replied with a stern look.

“Me?” she said innocently. “My understanding was it was a worn fuel line and AA Recovery dealt with it promptly and efficiently. Honestly,” she said airily, sitting at her desk to boot up her system, “I know Bond loves breaking our stuff, but you’d think he’d take better care of his own property.”

“Mmmm. Quite,” he replied.

But if Q thought that R’s was a grin that could have given the Cheshire Cat’s a run for its money…

“Good morning, 007,” he greeted with consummate professionalism.

“Q.”

“R - Please see Bond right with his weapon and comms, will you?”

“Of course, Quartermaster,” she said, expression stoic.

Bond tilted his head and half-turned to follow the woman before turning back. He moved to stand in front of Q, who had his hands held behind him, Bond’s casually housed in his trouser suit pockets.

R turned to watch the briefest of exchanges. And while she didn’t hear the words, her lip-reading skills weren’t all that bad.

“Talk when I get back?”

Q simply tilted his head once in the affirmative before turning his attention back to his work.

Bond strolled away to join R with not even a backward glance.

“Thank you,” Bond whispered to her.

“My pleasure, 007,” she said with a smile.

“Oh trust me, R. The pleasure was most definitely all mine,” he said with a wink.

Chapter Text

Three Weeks Later

Bond had barely had time to change his clothes and throw together a bag before he was shipped out on mission when they got back early on the Sunday morning from the Aston track test.

If he was worried their little tryst in the countryside may have impacted Q’s ability to perform his duties with nothing less than the sheer professionalism the job demanded, he was pleasantly surprised to the contrary.

On his return, he wondered if it would be nothing more than a pleasant memory shared. He wasn’t about to push—

He was climbing out of the Heathrow taxi in front of his flat when his phone vibrated. It was Q.

You’re needed suited and booted in two hours, 007. A car will pick you up.

Barely back on British soil and being shipped out again. He sighed, keying the lock of his front door.

At least he had time for a shower and some takeout.

Bond was nursing a whisky when he heard the car approach down his quiet street. He frowned. The engine certainly didn’t sound like a typical MI6 issue vehicle.

He looked out the window, watching his Aston pulling into the reserved space by the pavement outside. Of course, there was only one person who could be driving his car; the Quartermaster who had so kindly offered to give it a full service in the Q Branch workshop while he was in Kuwait, assisting in a CIA operation. He stood by the window while Q tooted the horn, killed the engine and stepped out of the car.

He was… wearing a cut dark blue suit, no glasses and looked like he’d just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren commercial.

Bond slipped on his jacket and headed for the door.

They didn’t exchange greetings on his approach to the car, merely took in the rather satisfying sight of each other after weeks of absence. Q was leaning against the bonnet. The car looked immaculate. He reached for the handle of the passenger door and cracked it open.

“Shall we?”

“The International Date Line?” Bond said in a low voice. He turned in the passenger seat with an amused look. “You are simply full of surprises, Quartermaster.”

“You’re not the only suave fucker in MI6 you know, Bond.” Q popped open the boot and pulled out a rug, a picnic basket and a bottle of champagne.

“Welcome home, Commander Bond. I think it’s your turn to kiss me now. If that’s not too much bot—”

No, thought Bond, unleashing 22 days of pent up desire on the lips of his young and luscious boffin, that would be no bother at all.

“You’re really not my type at all, you know,” said Bond, breaking the kiss. The champagne bottle chose that moment to pop its cork. Q quickly caught some of the gush bubbling from the neck in his mouth before kissing Bond again and releasing the liquid into his mouth. Bond swallowed it eagerly.

Q stepped back a little unsteadily then, plonking his arse down on the rug. “Intelligent? Gorgeous? Male?” he sighed.

“Single,” replied Bond with a sigh. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed Bond, I’m a big boy—“

“Oh I’d noticed that alright.”

Q rolled his eyes with a self-depreciating slant of a smile. “Shut up, 007 and let me finish,” he patted the rug and Bond deposited himself beside him, lying back to look at the clear night sky floating above the distant lights of the centre city.

“I’m a big boy and I’m not single am I,” Q said, lying down beside him. “Neither of us are. Both married to Queen and Country, and frankly I think both those ladies are more liberal than they like to make out and wouldn’t begrudge either of us seeing someone on the side. So to speak.”

He propped himself up on an elbow then to look down at Bond who was obviously contemplating his words. “Besides I think it’s about time you had your own initiation,” Q said mysteriously.

“Oh?” Bond enquired, propping himself up now. “And what might that involve exactly?”

Q leaned forward, pressing their chests together to bring his lips close to his ear. “Well, if you can guess the colour of the panties I’m wearing right now, it could involve all sorts of things. I’ll even give you a clue.”

“If you’re looking to get ravished al fresco, Q, you’re going the right way about it,” Bond mumbled.

“Bearing in mind we haven’t seen each other for more than three weeks…” Q continued bringing his thighs into light contact with those of Bond.

James smiled before closing the inch that separated them. “It just so happens purple is my second favourite colour,” he growled into Q’s mouth.

Chapter Text

It’s pretty incredible what a man can learn about himself when presented with a set of circumstances unlike any prior experience in his forty-five years on the planet.

Experiences such as watching the tantalising shift of a pair of slim hips moving towards the bed upon which he lay, his superior officer clad in nothing but a pair of silky briefs the contents of which were begging for exploration with whatever tools Bond saw fit to bring to this particular party.

He kept still while Q crawled up his body, trailing his tongue between the valley of his chest….

“What do you want, James?”

Bond grabbed him by the upper arms and Q flopped an unresisting bundle of taut, hot skin onto the mattress.

Bond didn’t hesitate, reaching a rough hand down, sliding it into the panties to cup his rapidly hardening cock, lengthening as he stroked and spoke obscenities.

“I want to feel your pleasure wash over and sink into me. I want to sink into you over and over until I’m the only name in your mind and on your lips. I want to decode and recode your body so it responds to my touch. Mine alone…”

“I believe during our first and last encounter I was promised some innovation…” Q was smiling, almost shyly, as though he couldn’t believe they were here, trying hard to hold himself together, sinking the tips of his fingers into the tangled muscles and scar-layered skin gracing broad, sunkist shoulders.

“I’ve seen your performance in the field, I have faith you can rise to the challenge,” Q whispered before Bond simultaneously dipped his hips and his tongue hitting their Quartermasterly targets with unerring accuracy.

“How about you turn over and I’ll demonstrate just how innovative your favourite agent can be…”

It is a commonly held belief in the world of science that the female vagina is the strongest muscle in the human body.

James Bond, however, was in the midst of demonstrating to his Quartermaster that his tongue might be a lead contender for the honourous  position. Right now, he was making some frankly acrobatic moves with enough skill and movement to make a rattlesnake blush.

Q was actually distractedly concerned about his eyesight. He was blind enough already and couldn’t afford to have his vision impaired further.

Bond pushed deeper, chasing all thoughts that weren’t enhancing the tingling and positively brain-melting sensation currently occupying the sensitive muscle between his arsecheeks.

“Jammmeeess. Please… Don’t stooppp….”

“Stopping” his sensual assault was far from Bond’s mind in that moment. The only sounds his mind were registering were the soft, animalistic moans and whimpers muffled by the pillow in which Q’s face was currently buried. After stealthily sheathing himself, he took the hem of those purple undies between his teeth and dragged it up. He could sense Q was about to protest, until he felt the garment pushed to the side and the press of Bond’s cock where his tongue had seconds before vacated.

In silken tones against his shoulder, Bond’s request was two simple words.

“May I?”

The brief reprieve gave Q pause. He realised all the tension that kept him composed and stalwart in his duty ebbed away to the back of his normally constantly busy mind. And it was the man straddled above and behind him now that was solely responsible.

“Stop. Thinking.”

“Two words I never put in such close proximity to one another, James.” But as Q hoarsely spoke those words, Bond felt the slender, sweat-sheened body relax, drawing him in.

For the first time.

With a long slow simultaneous exhale, Bond knew he was lost. And found? He didn’t really mind.

Bond found himself gritting his teeth, fighting against the treacherous demons inside demanding he make every single part of this beautiful thing his; Taken, possessed, owned in a way that instinctively warned everyone who came near him that he belonged.

He felt drunk with lust, the perfume of his bedfellow triggering a need to push deeper.

Q, in perfect sync with the man, relaxed further while pushing back.

Through the grunts and words of uncontrolled delirium, Bond could taste his approaching climax on his tongue, so latched onto the nape of Q’s neck to distract him from an early release.

Bond focussed hazy eyes on the straining muscle of his own bicep, the scar of a particularly brutal rope burn filling his vision for several moments. He could feel and hear the pump of the blood rush, keener and clearer than any time, even when required to take the life of another.

The strangled sound of his name torn from Q brought him back to the present, the sound a plea, a warning; the sound of a man on the verge of falling into a blissful chasm.

“I’m here. For you. Now. Whenever you call me…”

His hips stilled.

“I’ll come…”

Q tipped his head back, mouth open, eyes closed against a soaring climax, so brutal, he felt an overwhelming need to detach his mind from his own body. Bond rested a sweat-coated forehead against the crown of Q’s damp, dark waves, pushed up on his hands giving space to the trembling mess of flesh to ride out his pleasure.

Everything tightened.

Bond felt like a lion tearing the throat from its prey, its twitching body revitalising and renewing his own life-force, the power filled him to near bursting point.

And when he came, he was struck by the blinding realisation there was no coming back from this.

“You’re trouble, Commander Bond.”

Q’s limp and sated body lay unmoving next to James who had flopped down next to him, breath slowly evening out. Q reached out, almost tentatively as though he didn’t realise if a post-coital touch would be welcomed. This was unexplored territory for them both after all.

Bond snared the hand hovering over his chest and brought it to his lips.

“Yes,” he replied, lips lightly mouthing against long slender fingertips. He dropped it to his chest, hand still covering it, allowing Q’s palm to rest upon the beat of his heart.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Q whispered quietly, brow thoughtfully furrowed. “We’re… complicated.”

He didn’t meet Bond’s probing gaze, following the path of his hand as it gently caressed his torso, travelling from his navel to his throat a few times before sighing and rolling onto his back.

“You’re… important…”

Those words made Q look to study the thought behind them.

“To MI6, to our national security. Too important…” Bond breathed out, making a move to rise from the bed.

Q quickly grabbed his forearm to stall him. “Am I important to you? Because I think, I could live with that…”

Bond half-glanced over his shoulder from his sitting position at the younger man. “Life’s a fleeting proposition, Quartermaster.”

“So we should enjoy it while it’s ours,” allowing his hand to travel down his spine. It was an silent invitation. And it was one Bond wasn’t about to pass up.

He turned back towards him with a smile. “What happened to my being trouble?”

“I happen to like trouble. Trouble with a capital B.O.N.D.,” he replied, returning the smile and kissing him with purpose. “And the risks we take—“

“—define us as the men we are…” James echoed.